Slave
by Yaoi's Consort
Summary: Request fic! What if Eragon had lost and been enslaved by Galbotorix, Murtagh, Thorn, and Saphira had died, and the Varden had been disbanded?
1. Chapter 1

Inheritance Series—Inheritance

Galbatorix x Eragon

Slave

Chapter One

Requested by Armpit.

**Let's face it, people. They are SO cannon. But the thing is there aren't any fics about them BEING cannon! So I decided to write one myself.**

**Summary: What if Eragon had lost and been enslaved by Galbotorix, and Murtagh, Thorn, and Saphira had died, and the Varden had been disbanded?**

**Warnings: BDSM, non-con, non-consensual, rape, blood, violence, swearing, angst, and character deaths.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing! If I did, all the fictional male characters would be in my harem.**

**My first attempt at rape and dark themes, so please be nice! Constructive comments and criticism are encouraged, but no flaming! Read, review, and favorite it! Enjoy!**

Eragon groaned as he slowly woke up, his whole body one giant ache. He blearily looked around, his mind reaching for Saphira's. When he couldn't feel her, though, his body quickly went into a panic. Thrashing widely, he felt heavy iron cuffs around his wrists and ankles, and a chill had settled in his bones.

He was nude, shivering on a cold dungeon floor, cuffed to a wall by enchanted cuffs (when he had attempted to unlock them using magic, a terrible weight dropped down onto him, causing him to end the spell prematurely) and around his neck was a thick leather collar, also enchanted (and he also learned that fact the hard way).

He continued to struggle for what seemed like hours, his wrists developing ugly sores that hurt worse than sword cuts and, when agitated, broke and leaked fluids, causing extra pain when it leaked into the open wounds that still hadn't healed from his fight with Galbatorix. He stilled at the name.

Galbatorix.

He must be the reason why he was here. Flashes from his memory brought the fight back to the surface—

–_Arya screamed as her mind was attacked, tearing it apart. She dropped to her knees, her eyes dead as blood leaked out of her ears—_

—_Murtagh screamed as Thorn roared, both attacked by the bindings placed upon them by the king. Their bodies slowly turned to dust as they gazed into his eyes, their betrayal and agony clear as they were reduced to nothing more than two piles of ash—_

—_Saphira roared in agony as Shruikan shredded her side, tearing out her guts in one vicious tug and leaving her to die on the cold, black marble, her breathing shallow as her eyes glazed over—_

—_From a window, high above the city ground, he watched as they Varden was dispatched of, slowly, so agonizingly slowly he just wanted to move, to help them. No sooner had the thought occurred that he felt a bruising punch crack his ribs, opening the skin to allow the white structures to peek through, and stained red with blood. He watched as his vision clouded, Brisingr falling with a clatter to the ground as his eyes narrowed towards the king, a triumphant smirk decorating the corrupt king's thin lips—_

Eragon gasped as he came out of the sudden onslaught of memories, his skin now covered in a thin sheen of sweat. He panted heavily for a few minutes, his eyes wide as he tried to process the facts as they came to him.

He had lost.

Saphira, Murtagh, Arya, Thorn—

All dead.

All gone.

He rested his head on his lap, his heavy breathing and weak attempts to pull at the chains echoing off the prison walls. His eyes slowly drooped, even though he was struggling to stay awake.

_No, not now! I can't fall asleep now!_

The last thing he heard before he drifted off were heavy footsteps and the chink of a key opening a door.

**Short chapter, I know. But the nummies are next! Keep reading!**


	2. Chapter 2

Slave

Chapter Two

**Okay, now is the numnums. Yes, I know, stupid name, but that's what I call them! I am so so so so so so sorry about the delay! I was trying to put my flashdrive into the computer, and it wasn't accepting it. I was like, WTF? until I figured out that I had put it in backwards…plus I thought this would be a freakin' oneshot, but I guess it's gonna be a twoshot. I added some oral and sexual torture, so prepare yourselves for those who've stuck with me, and enjoy! Don't blame me if you have to go bleach your brains. You knew what you were in for from the start. **

Eragon woke up again, his body instantly going into hyper drive as he tried to process exactly what happened. The fight, their deaths, the cell, the footsteps—

He thrashed, discovering his arms and legs had been restrained by flimsy cloth bindings, keeping him in a spread-eagled position. Try as he might, though, the silk strips were strong enough and the knots tight enough that he couldn't pull free.

He felt rage and humiliation start to bubble out as he noticed that he was spread out on an expensive bed, _naked _once again. He knew what was going to come; he had seen the young women nobles invited into their chambers late at night, heard the screams echo through the halls. He was no one's toy!

Slowly, the door located right in front of the flamboyant chambers opened, and Eragon ceased his thrashing. The door opened to reveal the one person he knew was there, but loathed to think of.

_Galbatorix._

The snake that had killed everyone he cared for, destroyed his reasons for living, killed the one whom he believed he could hold in his arm and tell her that he loved her.

He took everything away from him.

He glared hatefully at the king, gritting his teeth and digging his nails into his palms until his knuckles turned white and thin rivulets of blood trailed past his wrists. The dark Rider simply glanced at him, before closing the door behind him and sitting in a chair located beside the bed. He sipped his wine, glancing again at his captive, before aimlessly trailing a hand down the firm, nude side. The muscles beneath his hand tensed, the Rider's glare darkening as he glowered at the king, a trace of fear peeking through the bravado if you knew where to look.

Galbatorix knew.

He could feel the boy's fear begin to evolve into terror. Soon enough, he would be nothing more than an obedient pawn in the palm of his hand. Murtagh had been a disappointment—a rebellious pawn who had developed feelings for Nasuada. He'd thought that he could keep the girl for himself, the stupid boy—all he could do was kill her to get rid of the temptation.

But that's all in the past. Right now, he had to deal with the youth he had captive, spread out on his bed and looking absolutely delicious. He smirked maliciously—it would be fun to play with him.

Eragon jolted as Galbatorix stood up, his eyes flashing panic for a moment as he looked up at the honey-tongued Rider. He watched as the king licked his lips, and opened his mouth to speak.

"Eragon." He shivered as his name was spoken from that sugar-sweet voice. "Do you know why you're here?"

"Because you're a sick bastard who takes pleasure in other people's pain?" Eragon replied calmly, but his body vibrated with contained rage.

"No. it's because you are the last Rider besides myself, and you . . . interest me." At this sentence, he trailed a hand down Eragon's nude side, the dragonless Rider shivering at the cool touch. "Besides the fact that we are the same now."

"We are nothing alike!"

"Oh? But we've felt the same pain. The loss of our dragon, and of our friends. You are no different from I."

"I am nothing like you! You sick—"

Galbatorix leaned towards Eragon, grasping his jaw tightly and staring into his eyes. Eragon was forced to open his mouth slightly to prevent the pain from making him cry out. His eyes watered as Galbatorix gripped his jaw tighter, his eyes travelling from his face to wander down his body.

Eragon flinched as he was examined; having this man who killed his dragon, looking at him with such a calculating gaze, felt as though a rotten, slimy fish was being dragged across his body. The king's gaze felt cold and uncomfortable, almost like he was trying to stab through his skin and into is soul, causing Eragon to try and avert his gaze, to get away somehow.

The king took note of this, though, and he brought his face back up to look into wide, frightened blue orbs. He smiled slightly, serenely, taking Eragon off guard for a second. He looked confusedly at the king, becoming more and more fearfully puzzled as the king brought his face closer to his own, his bruising grip still on his jaw.

And his world shattered.

Cool, dry lips made contact with his own, and his eyes widened to dinner plates. With his slightly open mouth, the king had no trouble slipping his tongue into his mouth. Eragon felt as though the king was trying to devour him—the kiss was ferocious, feral, as though he was trying to wrest Eragon into submission with that one kiss. He gagged slightly as he felt the slimy appendage come into contact with his own, passing over it, playing with it, as though trying to get him to respond. His breath came harshly from his nose; it was difficult to breathe when that retched tongue was practically going down his throat.

After a few minutes, the king finally pulled away to examine his work. He frowned at the furious and indignant glare that the boy was giving him.

What had the boy expected when he woke up nude in the king's chamber?

He couldn't help but be attracted to that lithe and agile form; he'd seen it twist in ways that had driven him positively mad when he had watched the boy fight and train. Now he was lain out before him—how could he not dig in to such a delicious treat? The line of drool trailing from the corner of his mouth was nothing but sexual, and the agitated flush of his pale skin had him almost drooling himself.

He trailed his hand down that flushed stomach, felt the shiver as the boy tried to arch away from the touch.

"S-stop!"

"Why?"

I continued to run my hands over his skin, humming in content at the soft, smooth texture that was free of any flaws. I felt my lust beginning to cloud my vision, yet sharpen it at the same time, zooming in on the boy whom I had under my power. His glare was still full of hate and fear, but I could tell that he was feeling something from the way he averted his gaze, the way his cheeks had flushed and his breathing got heavier, and the way he was shifting his legs, as though to try and hide something. His breath hitched as I brought my hand up to his chest, stroking his pert nipples as he shivered and tried to inch away yet again.

I would have no more of that.

With one deft movement, I separated his legs, and grasped his now erect member. He groaned at the abrupt movement, bucking his hips up into my hand. I smirked in satisfaction; the mouth can lie well, but the body is the one thing that will always remain true.

I continued to pump his member, my own breathe coming out in heavy gasps as I watched him squirm in forced pleasure. I felt my pants tighten as his whimpered in ecstasy.

It was becoming too much.

Casually sliding a hand up his stomach, his chest, then stroking his throat for a brief moment, I slipped three fingers into his mouth. I groaned at the feeling—kissing had been delicious, but having that hot cavern wrapped around my length would be even better. I was liking the idea more and more as he gagged on the digits.

I removed my fingers from his mouth when I found them thoroughly lubricated. Stepping away briefly, I spoke a spell under my breath that removed my clothes without me having to touch them, and folded them nicely before floating off to the laundry room. I climbed back into bed, lining my member up with his mouth. Whilst I had been stroking him, his eyes had fluttered shut, but they widened nicely when he saw what I had put in front of him.

His mouth shut firmly in a line, he grimaced when I rubbed my erection against his face. I moaned at the feeling of soft skin against my member. I needed him to open his mouth for me.

_Now._

I tried to be patient, attempting to coax him into opening his mouth, but he refused to. I felt my temper flare briefly before I returned to my personal calm state. He _would_ open his mouth, whether he liked to or not.

Reaching behind me, I brought my three wet fingers to rub against his entrance. He gasped at the alien sensation, his erection withering slightly. I took advantage of his gasp, though, grasping his hair roughly and jerking his head forward, impaling him on my erection.

I groaned in pleasure as he gagged on my thick length; I was by no means small, but I was not of a monstrous girth like that of a Kull. His tongue pulsed maddeningly against the thick vein on the underside of my cock, trying to jerk away as I kept his head in place with a firm grip. Almost lazily, I pulled him away by his hair, taking my length bit by bit from his warm, wet mouth, until only the head remained inside.

And then I pulled his head forward, impaling him again all the way down my length. He continued to try and jerk away until I found a suitable position in which he had no choice but to lay there and take it—his head bumped against the headboard as I thrust into his mouth, being forced down into the soft mattress as I continued to pump in and out of his warm, wet cavern. This position required me to exert myself, but I dismissed the thought of the slight inconvenience with a thrust forward, grinding my hips into his face. I knew he was having trouble breathing, but he didn't need to worry about breathing at the moment—he should be worried about what would happen after.

I felt the heat begin to build in my abdomen, changing my long, languid thrusts to short, powerful pulses. He continued to gag, choking on my length at the change in tempo, saliva dripping from a corner of his mouth. You'd think he would've gotten used to it by now.

Without warning, I thrust as deeply down his mouth as I could, letting out a low purr as I released all the built up tension, my body singing in pleasure. I absently thrust my hips in and out of his mouth a few more times, milking myself and releasing all of my seed down his throat, forcing him to swallow or choke.

He swallowed.

I hummed in satisfaction as I pulled away, observing how a line of drool trailed down his chin, his swollen lips not even able to shut from the ache I had instilled in them, and his tear-stained eyes still defiantly glaring up at me. I had to admit, he was tenacious, to be able to withstand that and still not break. But now, he would break. I would break him with what I had in store next.

I allowed myself to recover for a few minutes, his hateful gaze still boring holes in my back as I sipped on the now warmed wine, walking through exactly how he would take what was undoubtedly the boy's virginity. He would need to use lubricant—sex without it was more pleasurable, yes, but a virgin squeezing down on him with all his might, especially one he was about to take unwillingly, would be painful, even for him. He would also need to stretch him as well—it would be necessary for a pleasurable fit.

Perhaps he would use…that.

"You should be pleased." The boy twitched at his voice. "It's not everyday I use this."

"Use…what?" he said warily.

"My sword." The young Rider's eyes widened and he began to struggle. "Don't worry, I don't intend on making you bleed…yet. My sword should be able to stretch you well enough."

At the mention of stretching, Eragon's struggles increased until he was thrashing on the bed, the sturdy wood creaking with effort as he strained against his cloth restraints.

Galbatorix stood up calmly, walking over to a chest that Eragon had failed to notice. He opened the heavy oak lid, taking out a cloth-wrapped object. He stepped over to the bed, removing the cloth when he got to the edge. Eragon's eyes widened as he looked upon the blade of the silver-tongued king.

The blade was a cross between a long sword and a rapier—thin and lightweight, but long enough to be able to reach an enemy on horseback if he was standing a foot away from him, the core a rusty yellow. But the hilt was not that of either a long sword or a rapier—

It was similar to that of a broadsword.

Broadswords normally were wielded by thick, large men, so the hilt was thick and slightly rough. The pommel, though, was what scared Eragon the most. A large topaz gem, bigger even than the diamonds on the Belt of Beloth the Wise. It was large and cumbersome, probably better used for bludgeoning people rather than deft blade work. He gnawed on his lips, averting his gaze from the fearsome weapon as he tried to ignore exactly what was going to happen.

"Don't sweat too much. The sword will be what enters you second. I'll have to dirty my hands on you first. I wonder if you taste as good down here as you do up there."

"What? What do you plan on doi-IIINGGG?" Eragon exclaimed as the king dipped his head down below his now withered length, nipping at his thigh to stop the flow of words before continuing his path downward. Eragon struggled against his restraints, rubbing his wrists against the soft silk of his bonds. Try as he might, the bed creaking in protest, they wouldn't break.

He let out an unmanly screech as Galbatorix licked lightly around his entrance. He squirmed, moving his hips in an attempt to dislodge the wet appendage, but Galbatorix's hands darted out to apply their bruising grip to his hips, keeping him firmly in place for the torment. He twitched as he felt that wretched tongue trace its way around his anus, jerking as he felt the king's nose brush up against his nuts.

He gritted his teeth when it plunged into his body, swirling around as though it was exploring him. He shivered as he felt the king groan, his body shaking from the pleasurable sensations the vibrations sent through him.

The king didn't miss a beat. Deciding he had enough of using his tongue, he pulled away, taking a small bottle of oil that had been placed on the small side table to lubricate the hilt and pommel. Lining it up with that small, twitching hole, the only warning Eragon got was "Prepare yourself."

The violated Rider screamed in agony as he felt the large jewel press its way into his body. His scream continued to rise in intensity as the jewel fully entered him, the hilt now sinking into his body. When it was fully encased in his body, Galbatorix paused, allowing a moment to revel in his now renewed arousal.

His scream had been so full of sexual pain—the sound, reverberating through his body, worked just as nicely as a well-made aphrodisiac.

He didn't know how much longer he could go easy on the boy.

Galbatorix roughly pulled the sword from his entrance, drawing another cry from Eragon. The pain, _oh gods, _the _**pain**_—

Eragon was reduced to a crying, screaming mess as Galbatorix continued to plunder his ass with the sword, thrusting in and out roughly, but not drawing any blood. The violation only increased in humiliation when the king started to twist the sword as well as thrust it in and out, the large jewel rotating inside his body, the contact rubbing his insides raw.

Eventually, Galbatorix grew tired from the thrusting, seeming content to simply watch him thrash and cry as he swirled the hilt in his anus, pulling and twisting the skin inside him unbearably. When Eragon lost the energy to even thrash, simply lying there crying silently, his body twitching each time the hilt was bent in a different way, touching parts inside him that had not previously been abused.

Galbatorix grinned at the sight. The boy was finally ready for him.

He pulled the sword out of him slowly, revealing the topaz and pulling a groan from the boy when he swirled the jewel around his first ring of defense, stretching it briefly before pulling it out completely, revealing the elfish youth's gaping entrance. He licked his lips at the sight.

He looked delicious, spread out before him, tied up and degraded, tears flowing from his eyes. Now it was finally his turn to truly take the boy's virginity.

He grabbed the small bottle of oil, pouring the remnants over his length and groaning as the cool fluid ran down his erection. He stroked himself briefly, spreading the oil to coat his entire length before getting onto the bed.

The mattress creaked as he jumped on, the boy flinching and directing his tear-filled gaze to stare at him. Galbatorix shivered in delight at the helplessness he saw.

He would wait no longer.

Without warning, he sheathed himself completely in the youth, drawing a wail from his swollen lips at the continued abuse. He groaned at the feeling—even with the extreme stretching, he still clenched around him like a vice. He began to leisurely thrust in and out of the boy, taking himself out almost fully before thrusting his entire length back in. Eragon sobbed at the intrusion—it was one thing to be taken by toys, but an entirely different thing to actually having a man inside him, taking his true virginity.

Galbatorix, feeling the boy shudder at the intensity of his sobbing, took advantage of the added movement, stilling his hips when he was fully impaled inside the youth. He let Eragon twitch around his erection, allowing him to touch places inside the boy that were untouched until now. Sighing in content, he rolled his hips against the youth, content at the moment to simply let the boy do all the work.

But, like all things, he had to stop moving. Eragon simply lay there, a sobbing, sloppy mess. Galbatorix smirked at the sight as he began to move again, thrusting deeper into Eragon as he increased his pace, pulling out slowly each time. Eventually he built up a bruising pace, his nails digging into Eragon's sides as he brutally thrust in and out of the Rider.

Eragon had no control over himself as he felt his body degraded further, the hot, thick rod of the king plunging in and out of him, the path eased by his blood. The stabbing pain that just kept coming and coming, intensifying with each thrust. He wanted to vomit, to faint, to do _something_, but he could do nothing but sob, wail, whimper, and quiver and quake under the onslaught.

And then Galbatorix reached into his _mind_.

The king knew he couldn't break him—but having a foreign, slimy, thorny mind ripping your own apart was _unbearable_. He could endure, yes, but it was so hard to keep from simply rolling over and waiting for death.

A rumbling chuckled reverberated through the king as he continued to destroy Eragon inside and out. His mind was so shallow, so moldable, so fragile and young.

It made Galbatorix lick his lips in anticipation of a second session.

But, at the moment, the overwhelming misery, pain, and humiliation that was emanating from his mind had him beginning to sweat, and his breath came in shallow gasps as he neared completion. Even for someone like him, who had had hundreds of years to practice his techniques, could hold out no longer.

With a few more erratic and deep thrusts, he sunk himself fully into the boy, spurting inside him. Eragon twitched, shifting uncomfortably and whimpering at the burn of the cum along his ravaged insides. His eyes puffy and red, he couldn't even lash out when the bindings were removed from his arms, and he drifted into unconsciousness as he was lifted and carried to who-knows-where.

Galbatorix grinned down at the boy in his arms. He'd been a delightful fuck, and given a few weeks, he might even return to the defiant little boy he had seen the first time he'd encountered him.

A little fight with a fuck always made it more exciting.

**˚_˚…well…I'm speechless. That has got to be the most intense thing I have ever written. This story is now finished. And now I'm going to work on _Skirts and Blush_. And any other fics that I might happen to do. Or be requested to do. *wink wink***

**Okay, people! Hit me with your worst! Good reviews, bad reviews, extremely angry or mad reviews, gimme the best you got! I am very proud of myself. Even if this does just solidify the fact that I am an extremely disturbed person in need of professional help which I'll never ever get.**

**Stay individual! This is Yaoi's Consort, signing out.**


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